


Life, Imitates

by moomin (kokuchim)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Architecture Student!Jaehyun, Art History Student!Taeyong, Fluff, I know it's a bit weird but there's a reason I did it this way, M/M, Second person POV, This is told in Jaehyun's POV, and some angst, aside from experimental writing, there is a lot of art references here folks, you read that right this has angst in it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-01 13:23:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15774951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokuchim/pseuds/moomin
Summary: There is a young man standing in front of a field of poppies, unlike anyone you have ever seen before.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crimsun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimsun/gifts).



> I'm back to writing again.
> 
> Happiest Belated Birthday to my beloved squish, Soorya-chan. I did my best, I hope you enjoy it. I wrote angst for you. It will unfold, slowly of course but when it hits you....don't kill me.

There is a young man standing in front of a field of poppies, unlike anyone you have ever seen before.    
  
He does not fit the mould of pretentious museum dwellers, curators or even hippie art students that seem to decorate the halls of the Atelier. He is effervescent. A sharp jaw, a strong nose and lithe body cloaked in dark jeans and a lovely tweed coat.    
  
Casually, he sips from a flute of champagne, observing the painting come alive with a caress of his hand. The poppies, move to the direction of his strokes, a masterful modern twist to one of Klimt’s landscape masterpieces. You wouldn’t be surprised if the man could have been painted into it. The esteemed artist has always been a purveyor of beauty and this stranger, fits the bill quite perfectly.  His bright, red hair seemed perfectly at ease with the work of art in front of him, his eyes studying the timeless piece hungrily as if it would have held all the secrets in the world between its crimson petals. However much he has tried to be unassuming, there is nothing about him that would let him fade into the background.    
  
You would have liked to have moved closer to him. Perhaps, if you had felt a little bit braver, you would have, but your palms are sweaty and you feel your heart is about to beat out of your own rib cage. The odds of embarrassing yourself are higher than making a favorable impression. Glasses, retainers and rather unkempt hair being your deterrents. For once, you are embarrassed at having come to the show immediately after your shift at the library. The knots in your stomach only grow tighter. Still, you gravitate towards him like a moth to a flame, with every intention of burning alive.    
  
The mysterious man turns his head towards you, his eyes steely and full of depth. Dark, and surprisingly not light-eyed like most of the attendees in the Atelier. His gaze is defiant but questioning.  _ Who are you? _   
  
_ ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the exhibition is about to begin.’ _   
  
You turn your head away for just a moment, distracted by sound of re-arranged classical music drifting from the speakers and the lights dimming to signal the beginning of the show. It is after all, an art exhibit, one that you have been dying to attend since seeing it in  _ Le Monde _ . Eagerly saving every pretty franc for from working in the children’s library just to afford a ticket. You shouldn’t waste the opportunity.    
  
The lights dance, blooming patterns into your skin and the artworks on the wall. Delicate at some points, like the steady hand of a painter swirling his brush onto a canvass. Almost violent at other times, as if to emulate the sheer despair Klimt must have felt. Flickering like fireflies when the lights are dim, like the specks of paint that litter a galaxy on his more exuberant days.The exhibition is  _ beautiful _ , beyond anything you have ever experienced even in your own motherland but still. Still the man’s presence calls you, as if begging you to look back at him.   
  
The desperation that pools in your gut feels oddly strange, as if seeing him is a memory of a half-remembered dream.    
  
_ The fresh scent of rain, the sound of laughter, hands-stained blue, dripping red on a sea of indigo dye, twisting and turning like a Chrystanthemum on time lapse. Blooming. _   
  
At this point you have already made your decision to look back. The man is still there gazing at you with a mona lisa smile. You move towards him but a stranger blocks him from your line of sight. By the time you have whispered your hasty apologies,  _ pardon, c’est ma faute _ , the poppy field is bereft of his presence.   
  
Gone.   
  
You return your gaze to the spectacle before you. Trying not to let the sinking feeling of disappointment spoil your evening but it is useless. A wasted opportunity.    
  
The gold dust falling on your face at the show’s conclusion casts dark shadows on your cheek. From afar, it would have almost looked as if you were weeping.         



	2. Chapter 2

The morning light filters through the windows of your small apartment.

 

The windows are slightly open, letting the warm breeze in, blowing your curtains softly as if saying, _good morning, time to wake up_ . So you do.   
  
You head over to the bathroom for a quick shower, dressing yourself in a simple button-up shirt and jeans, before fixing your glasses and brushing your teeth. You place your retainers in their winnie the pooh clear case. You’ve decided not to wear them today. Some strands of your hair seem particularly defiant today, defying gravity in a way a Sasuke would be proud of. You pat them down, wordlessly telling them to behave even for just a little while. They do not listen. _Figures_. You don’t have time for to tame the thick mane you were unfortunately blessed with at birth today so you leave them be.

 

With a huff, you deposit the keys to your room safely in the back pocket of your jeans before heading off to ride the metro to attend class.  
  
It has been almost six months since you decided to study abroad in Paris. A city that has both welcomed you and made you feel oh so achingly different. The smell of freshly baked bread, the cafes littering almost every street corner, the architecture—the beauty of the city stays imprinted under your eyelids even as you prepare to sleep.   


By the time you arrive in the lecture hall, the front rows have all been occupied. Quietly, you make your way to the back of the hall, seating yourself near the window. Professor Moreau strides in not too long after, setting his laptop down and beginning his presentation for the day.

  
His lectures are long but exciting and there is always something new to learn. A new puzzle to figure out. A new secret to uncover. Novelty and creativity has always been one of the driving factors for your pursuit of architecture. If not directly hindering the practicality of your mind somewhat. Sometimes, it’s difficult to be a dreamer.   
  
Today, you think is an auspicious day. The heat of summer has slowly started to simmer down as the earth prepares to shed it’s skin and begin the cycle of death and rebirth. Students clutch their jackets closer to themselves, far yet too stubborn to begin bringing out their warmer clothes. Still clinging onto the last vestiges of the summer sun.   
  
In front, Professor Moreau discusses the nature of analysing Freud’s opinions on psychosexual development. A subject you find all too interesting even though you’ve only really elected into this general education subject to fulfill your requirements.   
  
You feel a sharp pain, prick your arm. Gazing sideways, you see that it is a paper plane. How odd.

  
Carefully you unfurl it, holding back a gasp after seeing a beautiful rendition of Klimt’s _Tree of Life_ scribbled onto it in red felt-tip pen. Smiling, you gaze surreptitiously around the room to see if the professor has noticed anything amiss. Still, he talks in front using his laser pointer to emphasize certain texts that will show up in the exam. Highlighted texts, you should be jotting down this instant but of course, curiosity is a powerful thing. As you scan the right side of the room. You notice a newcomer seated towards the back, near the exit. Upon closer inspection you realize it is the beautiful stranger from the exhibition.

  
His hair is still a shockingly vibrant shade of red and he chats with a few other sit-ins at the back. You would know of course, Professor Moreau had tasked you to assist him with collecting assignments just a few weeks ago. The shock of his appearance must have warped your sense of time only to be brought back to the present by a rather loud cough.   
  
“If you are _quite done ogling Monsieur Lee_ , I had asked you a question you must answer Monsieur Jaehyun,” the middle-aged professor quips with raised brow. The heat crawls up your face as you whip your head forward and bow deeply in your seat. “I’m very sorry sir. I wasn’t paying attention.”   
  
“ _Clearly_ ,” he says amusedly as he repeats the question. “Name the psychologist who proposed that consciousness is only but the tip of an iceberg?”   
  
Just as you were about to apologise profusely again, an answer rings out from behind.   
  
“Sigmund Freud.”   
  
It is the red-headed stranger. Lee- _something_ . He smiles widely at the professor with a set of perfectly white teeth all sitting next to each other.   
  
“Correct, but not your answer to give.”   
  
“Can’t help it if it was my fault your poor student got distracted,” he says with an ease of familiarity. The professor and your classmates all laugh as he motions for you to sit down. The embarrassment creeps up on you like a tidal wave ready to devour you like Hokusai’s wave. Decidedly, your gaze remains at the front for the duration of class, even though you could feel someone gazing holes at you. The hairs at the back of your neck raising in anticipation of the inevitable.   
  
Try as you might to keep the fire of hope snuffed out, the embers still remain.   
  
Later, after the class is dismissed and you have apologised profusely to Professor Moreau who waves it off as young foolishness, you step out of the classroom only to find the stranger there waiting for you.   
  
“ _Y a-t-il quelque chose que vous voulez me dire?_ ” Is there something you wanted to tell me. He asks simply. You notice that he has shaved two lines on his right eyebrow. A labret piercing sits clearly on his pink lips causing it to slightly jut out. You gulp, chest constricting as if the air has left your body in haste.   
  
With a slight shake of your head, you mumble an apology in heavily accented french, “ _Je suis désolé, au revoir._ ” I’m sorry, goodbye.

 

You bow and take your leave of him. With a great stride, you hurriedly move away from the scene of your embarrassment and towards your small apartment near the Latin Quarter. Hopefully to forget about this incident altogether with the bottle of soju you have hidden in the back of your mini fridge.  
  
“Hey! Hey! _Ralentissez_ !”   
  
You do not slow down. In fact, you walk faster as if doing so would save you from your impending doom. Confrontation has never been your strong suit anyways.   
  
“Wait!” The man shouts in your mothertongue.   
  
The man grabs your shoulder and turns you around, his cheeks slightly flushed from the cold and the exertion to keep up with you. “Has anyone told you...” he pauses as he tries to take a deep breath, “that you walk very fast?”   
  
A shake of the head. “ _Parlez-vous coréen?_ ”

  
“Yes,” he cocks his head to the side. Mouth slightly turned upwards in mirth.   
  
Bowing, you revert back to your mother tongue. The syllables long unused in this strange country but warm in your mouth like a long lost friend.   
  
“I’m sorry, did you want to speak with me?”   
  
The red-haired man smiles, pearly whites in full display. “Funny, I thought it was you who wanted to speak to me.”   
  
“I was just surprised...you are hmmm very...”   
  
“Distracting,” he provides helpfully.   
  
You nod. “Yes, distracting with your paper airplane.” You reach inside your bag to retrieve the folded piece of paper. “It’s an amazing copy by the way... of the Tree of Life.” You motion to return it back to him with a flick of your wrist.   
  
The man smiles fondly as he tucks his hands inside his coat. “What’s your name?“   
  
“Pardon?”   
  
“What’s your name?”   
  
“Jung....Jung Jaehyun.”   
  
The man hums as he collects the drawing that had once been a paper airplane, examining it from left to right. He uncaps his pen and places the folded paper on your chest to write. Blood pounds in your ear as you try to play it cool, trying and failing to keep a rapidly beating heart in line. It doesn’t work, not when one is in such close proximity to a person such as this. From this angle, you can see the long, full lashes that playfully caress such high cheekbones and the smell of peaches, vanilla and freshly baked bread invading your senses.   
  
“There,” the stranger presses the paper firmly against your chest. You instinctively close in on it, absentmindedly including his hand in the process. He grins at your embarrassment even as you hastily retract it back and read the scribbles on the bottom of the paper in hastily written hangul: Lee Taeyong and a series of numbers that are most likely his phone number.   
  
It is a miracle that the ground has not yet swallowed you alive at this point. Your hands feel sweaty, ears unexpectedly warm. The cause is less due to the summer heat and more due to the shamelessness of the man in front of you. The stranger— _Taeyong_ —gazes upon you fondly as if treasuring your reactions.   
  
“Why?”   
  
“It’s rare to find someone who wears their heart on their ears like you do,” Taeyong says as he points towards your still burning ear tips. “It’s very refreshing.”   
  
The comment doesn’t hinder you from hiding said ear tips from his view.   
  
“The digits?”   
  
The man smiles even wider. “ _Why_ , don’t you think you already know the reason for that?”   
  
“I don’t invite strangers to my home.”   
  
“Then let’s acquaint ourselves to each other then,” Taeyong slides his fingers in between yours and grips tightly. “Let’s go on an adventure.”   
  
“I have class!” You lie as he leads you running towards the metro.   
  
“Skip it!” He says laughing, heading downwards piano painted stairs like some madman taking you with him.   
  
You barely make it inside the train car before it closes, skidding inside, out of breath and accidentally pinning him to the side. Hastily you let your hands down, taking a handkerchief out of your pocket and start wiping the sweat off your brow.   
  
Taeyong laughs, the sound ringing in your ears like the brass bells of Notre Dame. Beautifully haunting.

  
The train moves through different stations as Taeyong gives you neither heads nor tails about your destination. “It is a secret! A surprise if you will!”   
  
“I don’t like surprises,” You mumble to yourself but Taeyong holds a bony finger against your lips, effectively shutting you up.   
  
“You’ll like this one.”   
  
At this point, if Taeyong had told you to jump, you would have, without hesitation at that moment and the moments yet to come. So you follow him out the door and walk with him. Exchanging bits and pieces of yourselves to each other, in spite of yourself.   
  
You have always detested small talk. Despised the veiled, insincere pleasantries that dot most of your interactions with people here as you do not share the same language with them. How the words mix and sink in between your teeth as you struggle to fish them out of the waters of your vocabulary and explain to your university friends what your life is like in Korea. Of course, things are always lost in translation sometimes. The feelings you wish to convey are not always understood and the bitter aftertaste of a failed attempt to reach out and communicate on a deeper level is left hanging over you like a sword of damocles.   
  
In the fifteen minute walk you have had with this man, you have connected more than you ever have in the last six months of living in Paris. It feels refreshing and comforting, like a warm blanket after an exhausting day.   
  
Lee Taeyong is two years older than you. A masters student in Art History at the Sorbonne and his adopted father is surprisingly Mr. Lee Hyunsik, your architect professor for Landscape Design. He enjoys collecting tiny teapots (“ _One day I wish I could have a matching tea set!_ ”) and visiting museums (“ _I like to pretend I can draw, you see?_ ”).  He asks about you as well of course, so you answer him as well as you are able.   
  
Jung Jaehyun, twenty-two years old, on a study abroad program from Yonsei University. A lover of basketball and swimming with bibliophile tendencies. An architect-in-training whose real passion is in interior design. Listless and lonely with one foot set firmly in the clouds.

 

“And the other one?” Taeyong asks, cocking his head to the side.

 

“Here,” you say unamused. The other set firmly in reality. Good o’l boring reality.

 

“Are you here on scholarship?”

 

“Yes, but I also work in a children’s library.”  
  
Taeyong seems delighted. “Do you tell stories aloud to the children?”   
  
“Yes, sometimes but I don’t think I’m very exciting.”   
  
“Nonsense.” Taeyong says as he lights a pale pink cigarette, lips mouthing against a gold filter to take a quick drag. “I distinctly remember you staring at me a month ago at the _Atelier des Lumieres_ . You were wearing those ripped jeans, a green plaid shirt and a white shirt tucked inside your pants.”   
  
“How can you remember me? I’m hardly remarkable. If anything I’m boring and plain—“   
  
“You are hard to forget, Jung Jaehyun,” he says seriously as they wait for the green light to cross the street. “I can’t tell you why, but I feel it very strongly.” You watch him take a drag of his pink cigarette, watch him mouth over the gold filter before exhaling through the side of his mouth. Taeyong’s eyes are luminous like a burning flame. His posture defiant as if daring you to contradict what he has already set in stone. The comment buries itself deep in your chest, writing itself onto your ribs like all the other things he will say to you in the course of one evening and the many evenings to come.   
Neon lights bathing two slightly out of breath figures in blue and red fluorescent light.   
  
The light turns green.   
  
You hold his hand tightly in yours, a dimpled smile etching itself on your face as you both cross the street. Your heart skipping along with you.   
  


 

________________________________________

 

  
He leads you to a small bistro that his friend, _Yuta_ , recommended.   
  
“He’s a foreign exchange student here like you. Only he’s studying French. He’s such a polyglot. I think you’ll love him,” Taeyong relates as he twirls his pasta with his fork, stealing glances at you all the while.   
  
The food is good, no doubt about that. The wine? Even better.  The food? You’ve never tasted a more delicious puttanesca in your life. Hardly anything else can compare after this meal. You try to eat it slower but to no avail, quickly scarfing down the noodles as if you’ve never eaten anything in days. Taeyong laughs as he wipes down some stray tomato sauce on your chin that has obviously missed it’s mark with his thumb. You watch him eat it off his thumb with a wolfish grin.   
  
“How many language does he speak?” You manage to ask, praying to god he doesn’t catch the slight crack in your voice.

  
“Hmm let me think. Japanese, Korean, English, Chinese and currently he’s studying French.”   
  
“Impressive.”   
  
“Very.”   
  
You try not to be jealous of that fact. You’re bilingual too. “I lived in America for four years,” You say.   
  
“Is that why you’re here then? In Paris?”   
  
Your ears feel oddly hot with embarrassment so you busy yourself with eating your dinner. Twisting your fork to gather the noodles before leaning in to eat a mouthful. Taeyong smiles as he snaps a picture of you.   
  
“Sorry, you were just too adorable.” He shows it to you. There you are, on his phone, about to eat a forkful of puttanesca, glasses askew and the red tips of your ears on full display.   
  
“Please delete that.”   
  
Taeyong shakes his head. “Nope. This? This is going to be your contact photo. Every time you call me I’ll see this and feel happy. See? It’s an amazing idea.”   
  
“You don’t have my phone number yet,” you say spitefully. Taeyong merely laughs, pinches your cheeks as he offers you his phone.   
  
“Why, don’t you think my idea is brilliant? Now, you have no choice but to put it in.”   
  
“Don’t you think I’ll just delete the photo? How can you trust me so easily. We’ve only just met.”   
  
That gaze is back on his face again. The one with the slight twinkle in his eyes that make him look softer, the look that you saw a month ago at the exhibition. “I’ll just have to trust you first and see what kind of person you are then for myself.” He takes a sip of his lemon water. “Besides, I already gave you my number. It’s only fair.”   
  
You place your number in his contact list. The photo of you eating is untouched. Silently you also offer him your phone and he wordlessly accepts.   
  
Taeyong punches in his digits, the same one he wrote down in his doodle and posed to take a selfie of himself with a peace sign. The photo turns out wonderfully and you assign it as his contact photo as well. Taking your phone into his hand, he leans forward with one elbow on the table. You lean closer, to hear what he has to say.

“Now, we match,” he says quietly, his hand lingering far too long when returning your belongings.

 

 _Careful, this man is dangerous_.

  
The ice in the glass tinkles, slowly melting into water as they continue to talk about one topic and then another. Continuing long after their plates have been cleared and dessert has been consumed, from the afternoon until the early evening.   



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, two chapters in a day. Apologies for not fulfilling my promise soorya-chan! 
> 
> Here is the chapter for today. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading it. We’re almost at the halfway point.

A planned date at Mont St. Michel Abbey goes as smoothly as one would think when going out with Taeyong. 

 

That is to say, a veritable mess.

 

Having taken an exam the previous day, you were tired and weary and had unexpectedly overslept. Sleeping through the three alarms you’ve set. It’s only after Taeyong calls you that you blearily open your eyes, sliding your thumb to accept the call. 

 

“Hello?”

 

“ _ Hmm...I love how you sound through the phone.” _

 

“Taeyong?”

 

“ _ Yes. I might have gotten too excited for today and arrived thirty minutes early. How long will it take you to get here?” _

 

“Aren’t we meeting later at 10 AM still?” You say, sitting up from your bed and stretching your arms upward.

 

“Yes, but I wanted to see you sooner.” 

 

You check the clock hanging over the kitchen, only to gape at the time. “ _ Merde.” _

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

You grasp your hair in panic. The clock clearly shows it is 9:34. “ _ Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. _ ”

 

_ “Is this an invitation?” _ He says teasingly. 

 

“No! I mean, I don’t wan’t to offend you, just... _ shit _ .” Holding your phone in between your shoulder and ear, you hop to open your closet and take out the clothes you had planned to wear for today. 

 

“ _ Care to tell me what’s happening?” _

 

Placing him on speaker, you hastily take off your clothes and wear your new ones. Thanking your foresight to at least have taken a long bath last night. “I may have overslept. Sorry, I’m just...this is not my day.”

 

You hear Taeyong laughing through the phone. Heart clenching, slightly saddened that you cannot hear it in person. “We can always reschedule—“

 

“No! Let’s not. Please.” You button your khaki shorts quickly. “I want to see you too.”

 

“Why, are you finally admitting you missed me? Jung Jaehyun who didn’t even want to give me your phone number when we met?”

 

“Yes.” You hear Taeyong give a small gasp of surprise. Smiling slightly you comb your hair backwards with your fingers, hoping to god the wax does its magic. “I missed you. I missed talking to you and I…” you pause. The next words are not particularly easy to say but you manage anyways. “I wanted to see you sooner too.”

 

Taeyong is silent for while before he speaks in a gentle tone. “Come quickly, I’ll wait here by the ticketing station. Don’t make me wait too long.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

Quickly you put your passport, wallet, train pass and a spare shirt inside a small bag before brushing your teeth and removing your retainers. You almost forget your glasses in your haste to leave. Slipping your feet inside your sandals half-heartedly before locking the door and rushing to the train station. 

 

You are five minutes late but seeing Taeyong’s smile is worth it. He offers you a croissant and a cup of coffee and motions for you to sit down next to him. 

 

“Figured, you wouldn’t have eaten anything yet.”

 

Smiling, you say your thanks before digging into the meal eagerly. 

 

“I’ve bout the train tickets. Since we are at Gare Montparnasse, we’ll take a train to Rennes and then take a bus from there to the village,” Taeyong says, showing you the route via his handphone. 

 

“The train arrives in twenty minutes. Are you ready?” 

 

Emptying the contents of your cup, you nod and throw them properly in the trash bins located to your left side. “Let’s go.”

 

“What? No I miss you? I’m so excited to go to world UNESCO Heritage site with you?” Taeyong teases as you both enter the platform. 

 

Wordlessly you link your hands together but still facing forwards. The tips of your ears are burning. You’ve never initiated holding his hand before and this is wholly embarrassing but the slight warmth emanating from the palms of Taeyong’s hands is enough reward. From your peripheral vision, you see his cheeks are flushed, he’s biting his lower lip. 

 

“I missed you,” you say quietly just as the train arrives.

 

Taeyong nods, squeezing your hand. 

 

“Me too.”

  
  


_______________________________________

  
  
  


St. Michel Abbey is beautiful. 

 

You take the time to climb up the Grand Rue, taking pictures with Taeyong along with the breathtaking view. You visit the Abbey and weather through the throng of other tourists who have flocked to see the old pilgrimage site. Later, when both of you are hungry you rest for a while eat at Mère Poulard a famous restaurant known for it’s souffle omelette. Taeyong laughs at your expression and promises to try his hand and cooking you one up. 

 

Dimples in full display, you hold his hand across the table to say your thanks.

 

“If I had known the fastest way to get you interested in me was through your stomach, I’d have volunteered to cook for you earlier!”

 

You laugh at his childish pout, before the red-haired man pinches your cheeks in retaliation. 

 

Once you’ve had your fill, you walk around aimlessly around the cobbled streets and appreciate the architecture of the place. Stopping by a corner bakery, Taeyong buys some bread for your trip home and spots a post office across it. He walks across and decides to buy some postcards of St. Michel Abbey they sold by the storefront. 

 

He buys them and writes down your address in his neat handwriting. He starts to write something else before pushing your face away. 

 

“I want it to be a surprise!”

 

Amused, you decide to wait by the door to the post-office as he lines up at the post office to send them to you. 

 

“I asked them delay sending it by two weeks,” he says as he joins you outside, linking your arms together. Carefully, you offer him a box of the macaron’s you bought at the bakery across from the post office. Smiling, he opens it gently with his free hand. He takes a purple one and motions for you to open your mouth.

 

“For me?”

 

He nods as he places the whole thing in your mouth. He laughs as you choke a little bit, patting your back gently to help you cough some of the crumbs out. “Sorry, Sorry I was too excited!” He offers you a bottle of water that you graciously accept. 

 

Coughing fit subsided, Taeyong pops a mint green macaron in his mouth and hums an old love song. One you can’t seem to put your finger on. You interlace your fingers with his as you walk the cobbled streets and take in the history of the city.   
  
You’ve always wanted to visit the city to see it’s architecture in person. Taeyong has always wanted to visit the city because he saw it in Nodame Cantabile. His cheeks flush pink at this admission of truth. “I loved that show! I remember begging my father to buy me the comics when he went back to Korea for a business trip.”   
  
“Have you never been to Seoul?”   
  
Taeyong smiles, and settles down on a beach towel he has prepared for a late afternoon session of sunbathing. “I used to live there when I was small, up until I was twelve. Then, dad found a good job here and moved out. I’m quite happy here. I get to be myself.”   
  
You find yourself nodding in agreement. It is not easy to love a man back home. It is not easy here either but ease becomes relative to a place from whence you originate. 

 

You find yourself standing in the bay at low-tide. The sand tickling your feet. Leaning down,  you take off your sandals and place them at the edge of the towel, you have been sitting on previously. Taeyong lowers his aviators to look at you oddly. “Where are you going?”   
  
“To the water. I’ve always loved swimming.” You point towards the slowly returning water.    
  
A look of unease filters through his face before he is able to school it in veiled nonchalance. “Don’t stray too far from my sight.”

 

Laughing, you nod your head in agreement. “Yes, hyung.”

 

You let yourself enjoy the feeling of sand underneath your toes, the heat bearing down on your back and the smell of salt that pervades your nose.You walk to the edge of the water and allow yourself to be slightly carried away by the tide, letting the waves crash through your knees as you slowly start to get buried underneath it. 

 

Grinning you wave at Taeyong who watches over you with worry carved in his features.  _ Odd. _

 

“I’m sinking hyung!” You call out to him.

 

“Come back, sailor!”

 

Laughing, you shake your head and stare off at the horizon. The sun has started To descent from its lofty place in the sky. It’s breathtaking. Distracted you don’t hear his voice again until you feel bony fingers gently wrapping themselves around your wrist effectively pulling you away from the water.

 

“Let’s go home, Jae.” 

 

“Tell me a story first, hyung.” 

 

Taeyong bends down to collect a small seashell, caresses it in his hand as he thinks. “I once almost drowned to death as a young boy. I was playing in a river but my foot had slipped from the rock and I had fallen in the deeper end of the river. The current was strong and I could feel myself sinking lower and lower. I remember how the water filled my lungs. Oddly enough, instead of panicking, I felt at peace.”

 

Taeyong throws the seashell back to the water. “My father had saved me, pushed the water out of my lungs with a great heave and I coughed it all out. I’ve been strangely wary of the water ever since.”

 

You hold his hand tightly to offer your comfort. “I’m sorry to hear that. Do not worry though. I’m a pretty strong swimmer. If you fall in again, I promise to dive after you.”

 

“Very cheesy, Jaehyunnie,” he says, touching the dimples of your cheek with his free thumb. “I think you’re more likely to pull me in the water than out of it, you siren.”

 

“Don’t sirens call out to lost lovers?”

 

“Yes, before they drown them to death and feast on their flesh.”

 

You tuck your head in the crook of his neck murmuring, “How romantic, to be with them forever as one flesh.”

 

Taeyong snorts, “ _ of course _ , nothing is more romantic than water in your lungs.”

 

You hug him from behind as an apology for bringing up sordid matters. Help him put away the beach towel and the picnic basket. Walking hand in hand towards the bus station that would lead you back home to your apartment in Paris.

  
  


With the orange-caramel colored sunset behind you, Taeyong offers you a paper pinwheel.

 

“How childish,” you chide at him jokingly but he merely smiles.

 

“Make a wish,” holding it out in front of you.

 

_ I wish to be with you for a long time. _

 

The wheel spins.

 

Faster. Faster. Faster.

  
  


_________________________________

 

  
A week later, Taeyong calls you up to invite you to have a drink with him. Of course, having finished most of your coursework early, and on the brink of boredom, you readily agreed.    
  
The Bar—Empathy— is a slight hole in the wall establishment with a neon martini sign out in front, next to a Chinese restaurant. It had been an old bomb shelter back during the war, now repurposed to hold small gigs for aspiring musicians.    
  
Here, amongst sweaty bodies and holding two shot glasses of vodka is Taeyong and Jaehyun. Although the former is swaying happily to the heavy bass and guitar riffs echoing in the background. His cheeks are red, most likely from the alcohol and all the jumping and dancing they’ve been doing for the past hours. Immaculate hair now slightly disheveled from running his hands through it.    
  
“Got the drinks?” He asks against the shell of your ear. The bass thumping in the background and the shouts of the audience chanting back the lyrics in a call and response.    
  
You nod. “I don’t think you should take another shot.”    
  
“What?”   
  
Speaking louder, “I don’t think you should drink it!”   
  
“Why not?!” he says with a bark of laughter.   
  
You hesitate, afraid to call out the poor alcohol tolerance of a man who had wanted to give you a good time. In which, you are, that is. Having a good time. The music is good. The drinks are great. The company? The company is the best part of the evening.    
  
“Your cheeks are very flushed and I think you’ve had quite enough!”   
  
Taeyong laughs a full-bellied laugh. You lament that it is drowned out by the sound of grunge rock music playing in the background. “You’re a good man, Jung Jaehyun.”   
  
You nod, watching transfixed as Taeyong lights himself a cigarette and places it between his lips, blowing it out through his nose in a french inhale. You down one of the shots before placing it upside down on the bar counter. Taeyong watches you with interest.    
  
“Are you going to drink it?” You ask him.    
  
“ _ Oui _ ,” he replies with an exhale. “My last.”   
  
“Please drink with moderation with other people.”    
  
Taeyong smiles, puffs out smoke and points to his ear. You lean over to repeat what you said, trying not to get too distracted with the way he caresses the hairs on your nape with his fingers. Taeyong laughs as he takes the shot glass from your hand and drinks it before kissing you, closed mouthed but squarely in the lips.   
  
Liquid courage.   
  
It’s all too brief. He sets down the empty shot glass, staring you down, observing your reaction as he smokes the last vestiges of his pink and gold cigarette before snuffing it out on an ashtray. “Did you hate it?” His voice having a slight quiver, pressing his lips together as if it would staunch the wave of insecurity that seemed to envelop him at that particular moment.    
  
Did you hate it? No. Did you want it to happen all this time since entering this bar? Yes. Do you want Taeyong to kiss you silly? Definitely.  _ Very badly.  _   
  
“I’ve never kissed a boy before.”   
  
His eyes widen at your confession before softening, a tender smile making his sharp features softer even in the harsh lighting. “Let me do it properly this time, then.”   
  
You nod. Giving your permission for Taeyong to move closer. Wrapping two gangly arms around your shoulder. His piercing touches your lips as he whispers for you to relax before he closes the remaining space between you two. You stand there awkwardly as Taeyong tries to coax your lips pliant with open mouthed kisses to your lips, your jaw, the shell of your ear.    
  
You wrap your arms around his waist steadily as you slowly try to return the kiss. It’s sloppy, embarrassing as hell but Taeyong seemed to be okay with it. He smiles into the kiss as he tilts his head to deepen it, clutching your face in between two hands. He bites your lower lip, nipping it before licking the underside of your mouth. You break away surprised and slightly out of breath. Taeyong merely smiles and leans in to do it again and again and again.    
  
The world having turned hazier, just like the wisps of smoke inside the bar. The band’s music and the roar of the crowd is strangely silent. The only music you hear is the sound of your breaths mingling and a soft tenor’s breathy whispers of your name next to your ear as he runs his fingers through your hair, just the way you’ve always wanted someone to.   
  
A little paradise. Just like that.   
  
  


 

_________________________________   
  
  


  
  


Ever since that fateful night, Taeyong has become a permanent fixture in your life.    
  
You have gone on multiple dates to various interesting locations around the city. Taking turns picking out itineraries and even hanging out at each other’s places cooking dinners, watching old french cinema and studying together when exams week rolled around the corner. Taeyong had in fact preferred the architect’s apartment mostly because he still lived with his father. He had also guessed that perhaps his father would not take it so kindly having one of his exchange students date his only son.   
  
“You’re very forward thinking, hyung,” you breathe into his mouth as he runs his hands all over your body. You plant kisses along the shell of his jaw, sucking a hickey on the bare part of his shoulder. Taeyong pushes you away, straddling your hips, smiling as he divests himself of his sweater. You push your elbows up from the bed, capturing his mouth in a heated kiss. The two of you lying horizontal on your bed, he laughs as you stop him from dipping lower than your waist. 

 

“Of course, I want this to last for as long as we can.”   
  
You place your hands on his cheeks, staring him down. “You say that as if you know it won’t.”   
  
“I never know anything with you,” he says. His face oddly desperate as he touches your lips to plant a kiss, you return with the same heart-wrenching flavor. Again, he tries to undo the buttons of your jeans but you stop him.    
  
 “Please Jaehyunnie....”   
  
A shake of the head. “I’m...I’m not ready yet. Let’s take it slow,” you say as your hands trace the ridges of his spine, Taeyong shudders as you flip him over to lie on his back. Caged, in between your arms, Taeyong has never seemed more vulnerable. “We have all the time in the world.”   
  
He doesn’t look like he believes you, but you try to prove it to him anyway. With your lips, your smiles, your kisses, the way you call his given name that has the older boy trembling in delight.    
  
Oh god, you try.   
  
  
  


 

_________________________________

  
  


  
It’s October.    
  
Just a few days short of halloween when Taeyong drops by unannounced in front of your apartment.    
  
He does this often, sometimes carrying his books along with some grocery bags for dinner he intends to use your beautiful kitchen, his words, to create. You laugh as you leave closed mouth kisses in his mouth as he lets himself inside. You help him prepare dinner of course, as he regales you with stories of past painters and sculptors he has studied in class today.   
  
“You know what I love about Egon Schiele’s work?“   
  
“What is it?”   
  
“I love the pure unashamed outlook he had on sexuality. Especially in a time when such hedonistic pleasures would have been frowned upon you know? Also the line work is intriguing, as an architect I think you could appreciate what an excellent, steady hand, he has when he could put his mind to it. Of course, it could get crazy but he had the technique down pat.”   
  
You nod, pouring the vegetables you’ve cut inside the pot. Tonight’s dinner is Japanese Curry, a dish you have only ever tried once in your life. You are more than excited to try it again, even more so that it is done by someone whom you hold a deep affection for.    
  
“Also, did you know that he was the protege of Gustav Klimt? He definitely inherited the deep appreciation for the female body from him. It’s really prevalent in his earlier works like his portrait of his sister? Gertie Schiele? It’s very reminiscent of his mentor’s work but it also showcases his style of art.”    
  
“I like it when you talk about the things you love with me,” you blurt out. Taeyong’s habit, according to his observations was to babble about things that he found interesting with great depth and research. He obviously loved his studies. He had aimed to one day be an art curator, maybe even a collector if he was lucky.

 

_ “Imagine owning a Klimt! Or a Frida Kahlo!” He says to you one night after a visit to the Louvre.  _ __   
  
Taeyong turns to face you, his eyes marshmallow soft again and gives you a small peck on the nose. “I love you,” he says quietly, afraid as if voicing out his confession would have sent everything to ruin.    
  
You don’t leave him in the dark to simmer over this. Moving closer you hold his hand in yours, kissing each bony knuckle softly, your eyes never leaving his. A kiss to the inner cheek of his palm. His skin goosebumps at your gesture. 

 

“I love you too.”   
  
He leans over the kitchen island, eyes closed. 

  
You meet him halfway.    



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is the part I tell everyone that if you do not want to read smut...skip this chapter. Walk away. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> I almost died of embarrassment writing this.

Taeyong, you think, is the most beautiful like this.   
  
When he is laughing so hard, his eyes start to wrinkle at a joke you’ve made. The way he smiles at you from afar while you read books to enchanted children, more interested in how your face and manner of speaking is different from theirs.   
  
The way he runs his bony, slender fingers along the spines of books in the Bibliotheque de la Sorbonne as you play a game of hide and seek. You chase after the wisps of fire, you glimpse in between the empty spaces of natural history. Listen to the sound of hushed laughter that rings in your ears. Eventually, he lets you catch him, lets you wrap your fingers in his, lets you bury your head in the crook of his neck, lets you breathe him in deep you are afraid that if you exhale he will disappear.   
  
Taeyong leans closer to you, whispers quietly in your ear, “you’ve found me, Jaehyun-ah,” he plays with the hairs on the back of your neck. Rubbing the tips of his blunt fingernails through your hair, the way you’ve always liked. “What now?” He asks before he bites the shell of your ear harshly.   
  
A grunt escapes your lips. You watch him look at you, those big eyes, deep and soulful brimming with barely concealed desire. Gently, you press his back against the wall before leaning in for a kiss. Slow, lazy, the way you love to do, as if time is of little consequence. The way Taeyong does not like. Where you like it slow, he likes it rough, fast and dirty. Enjoys the feeling of desperation that there is never enough time.   
  
Taeyong whines into the kiss, dissatisfied and presses his lips against yours with more force, tilting his head until you are forced to accommodate his wishes. Hold his hips closer to your body as you leave a trail of fire in your wake, along his clavicle, his neck, his jaw, his lips. Taeyong hums contentedly as he nips your lower lip, as if to reward your obedience.   
  
There is nothing but the ringing of your ears, the sound of paper rustling as pages are flipped, the sound of open mouthed kisses, and the slick sound of two tongues meeting passionately at this very moment. It feels hot. The coat you are wearing seems unbearably stifling when Taeyong steadily grinds his hips against yours sensually as he pulls your hair. You gasp into his mouth, letting out a soft moan that has him grinning against your lips, his free hand, cupping your jaw as your lips meet again and again.   
  
You have no idea how long you have stayed here until the sound of several books being dropped disrupt you. Taeyong is displeased. He chases your lips but you turn around to see a young librarian gazing at both of you with surprise. Her face flushed with embarrassment as she tries to pick up the books that have fallen on the floor.   
  
Quickly, you glance at Taeyong, uneven breath, bruised lips and some love bites dotting his decolletage and feel ashamed. You try to smooth down your boyfriend’s unkempt appearance by buttoning his shirt and wrapping your scarf around his neck at an attempt to disguise the destruction you’ve wrought. Taeyong smiles sheepishly as he tries to pat down your unruly hair and fix your glasses properly on the bridge of your nose.   
  
Bowing, you offer your sincere apologies only to remember that the librarian, was not korean. Taeyong laughs as he murmurs your apologies in french, before grabbing a book from a shelf and heading off to the checkout table.   
  
You try not to let the curious, knowing gazes of library-goers bother you. It’s pointless. A quick glance at your reflection from the window, causes you to surmise that there is no hiding the truth from your appearances. Taeyong, squeezes your hand in his, more tightly as he moves to the check-out counter.  
  
 _The Little Prince._   
  
He offers his library card and makes promises to return it post haste. At times like these, you remember how lovely he is as a person. Taeyong is nothing if not kind and thoughtful. Asking after the older librarian’s children as she putters about filing his request to borrow. The smooth sound of french slipping from his tongue like silk. Promises of bringing back some of his pastries upon his return and smiling at the woman when she mentions your presence in his life. You are not fluent by any means, but the gist of it does not fall deaf on your ears.  
  
 **Mme. Ducard:** _You love him, yes?_ __  
  


_ **Taeyong:** Oui. More than anything. _

 

 **Mme. Ducard:** _Best to keep things meant for the bedroom there, hm?_

_   
_ **Taeyong:** _ At least one of us needs to have some excitement in their life. _

_  
_**Mme. Ducard:** _You confuse excitement with exhibitionism._ __  
  


 **Taeyong:** _My heart loves who it loves and my body wants what it wants._

 

 **Mme. Ducard:** _He’s quite handsome, this one._ _He seems worth keeping._

  
Taeyong gives the older woman a kiss on the cheek with a winsome smile. The librarian merely laughs and pinches your boyfriend’s cheeks with fondness. 

 

“Madame, you are the only woman I will ever love,” Taeyong says kindly. She scoffs before shoving the book against the redhead’s chest, her cheeks slightly pink. She gives you a once over, and smiles warmly. “Keep this one on a leash, don’t you? Although I am quite sure he would enjoy the experience rather than the punishment.”

 

With a blush, you say your thanks and walk out the doors of library and down the steps. The air is cool but your hand is warm against his. Taeyong leans in to peck your cheek. “Sorry, I got carried away.”   
  
You shake your head. “No, I got carried away too. You’re very distracting hyung.”   
  
A laugh. “Well, why don’t you distract me later by reading this book hm?” Taeyong motions towards the borrowed library book. You agree as you make your way through the park, and wait for the train to arrive at the station.    
  
Taeyong looks beautiful like this, you think.    
  
The way his hands are cupped around a book, his lips tugged upwards in a soft smile, meant only for you. Despite his outward, cold-looking appearance, Taeyong has never been any of those for deep inside he has been nothing but kind, appreciative and loving of others. You hope to cherish him more as the years go by. Like a tree settling its roots deep within the ground, so do you hope to grow with him over time.     
  
Later, when the warmth of your apartment seeps in, and you are mellowed down after a cup of coffee you will read to him the story of a young boy and his rose in your halting french, Taeyong’s head laid against your shoulder, reading along with you and correcting passages you mispronounce on your bed. 

  
“ _ People have forgotten this truth, the fox said. “But you mustn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed. You’re responsible for your rose. _ ” The bespectacled young man reads. Taeyong smiles. “Will you be responsible for me then?”   
  
“Always.”   
  
  


  
_________________________________

  
  


  
Taeyong likes to watch the water swirl as it cleans the clothes he has deposited into the machine.    
  
You know this because, he always crouches in front of them when you are at the laundry shop at the ground floor of your apartment building, cooing at the machine. He enjoys watching the soap being rinsed away with every spin and every cycle. The sound of the machine calms him. “I’ve always been a clean freak,” he discloses, palm against the washing machine’s glass.

 

“Hmm,” you reply. Flipping the next page of The Little Prince. The boy wants to go home now. He misses his rose, now having realized how important she is to him for the amount of time and care he has invested in her. 

 

Bony fingers steal the book from your hands quickly. Looking up, you see Taeyong carefully dog-ear the page you were reading, before setting it aside. He scoots over closer to you on the bench, resting his arms on your shoulder, his forehead against yours. “I don’t like being ignored.”

 

“I’m sorry, I thought you were busy making googly eyes at the washing machine. I didn’t want to be a third wheel.”

 

Taeyong laughs, kissing the top of your nose. “Well, I’m done looking at it. Now, pay attention to me. You invited me over to your place only to bring me down to the  _ laundry room? _ ” He nips your bottom lip. “This date is turning out to be the  _ stuff of legends. _ How exciting.”

 

Sheepishly you scratch your head. “Sorry, I just forgot I had to do it. I’ve been putting it off the entire week and it’s grown into a mountain.”

 

“You are lucky I like to clean so much. Seeing you do this turns me on.”

 

You laugh into the kiss, incredulous. “Cleaning is your kink?”

 

“A man needs his secrets.”Taeyong says into your mouth as he plays with your hair. Dragging his free hand along your back to trace the ridges of your spine. 

 

Times like these are your favorite. Taeyong, happy, safe and pliant. Roaming hands, and gentle kisses, stolen between the hours spent in university and mandatory study sessions.

 

He’s had a new piercing done recently. The long chain of his new earring tickles your neck, whenever he tilts his head to moan against the shell of your ear. He likes it when you rub the area, still slightly sore but then again Taeyong has always had his strange interests. Not that you could say anything about with how indulgent you are. Taeyong moves closer, arms tightening around your shoulder as he deepens the kiss. Tongue licking the underside of your mouth, biting your lips and sucking your tongue. 

 

Ever since the time the both of you had gone too far in the library, Taeyong has been insatiable. 

 

His hands roam to squeeze your thigh underneath tables, meeting you in coffee shops with the collar of his shirt unbuttoned, yesterday’s love bites in full display. He dangles himself in front of you, baiting you to make a move. Even his kisses have become less playful and more frantic, desperation ringing with every breath and whisper of your name to seal a promise made in blood and sweat and tears.

 

Just as you’ve decided to fuck propriety, the timer goes off. 

 

Taeyong groans in frustration, laying his head on your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. “I….think you should go get that,” he says.

 

“G-give me a minute.”

 

“Nothing’s happened yet and you...ahh...need a minute?”

 

Annoyed, you kiss his forehead anyway before standing up to collect your clothes. “It’s very hard when your boyfriend wants to dangle himself all the time in front of you. I have my limits.”

 

Taeyong smiles wolfishly. “Am I winning?”

 

The scowl on your face says it all. A giggle escapes as he bends down to help fold your laundry. “Let me help you.”

 

“You don’t have to.”

 

“I want to, I enjoy doing this. I’m enjoying it even more since we’re doing it together.”

 

You try not to show how pleased you are with that statement. It has always been something you wanted even as a young child living mostly with your grandparents in Seoul. Someone to share a meal, stories and do the household chores with. A byproduct of a lonely childhood. A silly little dream. 

 

Together you make quick work of it. You enjoy how warm the clothes are from being dried and for a little bit you understand why Taeyong gets so excited about folding the laundry. The smell of the fabric softener he has gifted you makes you feel relaxed.    
  
Once the laundry has been folded, Taeyong places the book on top of it as you carry it upstairs to your apartment. Upon arrival, he grabs a clean towel from under the rack and saunters over to your bathroom to take a shower, taking his music box with him. The sound persists even with the sharp sound of falling water. You vow to search the name of the song he seems to love so much. 

 

Carefully you start to sort out your folded laundry into its proper place. There are traces of him everywhere littered in your apartment. His tweed coat hanging next to your university hoodie, while a section of your cabinet is cordoned off with clothes he keeps here when he stay over. A family of cacti perched beautifully in the kitchen window, his silver lighter and cigarette case, half opened to show rows of multicolored cigarettes with gold filters. The bathroom door is slightly open and you see his toothbrush sitting next to yours. In retrospect, you have never really realised how empty your apartment had been without him in it. At this point, you can’t imagine what your life would be without him. The very thought of him leaving through door carrying all of his things with him fills you with dread. 

 

Taeyong exits the bathroom, covered only with a towel around his waist. He throws his dirty clothes in your hamper before sauntering into your bedroom. He gives you a peck on the lips before rummaging through your drawers for some spare clothes. You hear the telltale sign of the towel hitting the floor but you can’t manage to convince yourself to turn away. With eyes transfixed, you watch him changing from behind into a pair of boxer briefs, some sweatpants and an old Yonsei Architectural Department tee.

 

“Like what you see?” He asks you, looking over his shoulder like one of those femme fatales in the noir films he loves so much. 

 

Carefully, he places the wet towel on a rack for it to dry before joining you on the bed. You scoot over to rest your back against the headboard. Taeyong sitting next to you, tangling your feet together. “Have I told you how much I love seeing you wear your glasses and retainers?”

 

You shake your head. “Doesn’t it make me look too much of a nerd? I get a slight lisp when I wear them. ”

 

He places a hand on your lips, “That’s exactly my type.” 

 

“Twenty-something year olds who do nothing but study and pretend that they’ll make buildings before thirty?”

 

He laughs, leaning closer to rest his forehead on your own before whispering, “twenty something year old aspiring architects who are madly in love with me.” 

 

You make out for a while. Taeyong indulging you with soft nips before pressing forward to give you a bruising kiss. Your sweatpants start to feel uncomfortable, since your boyfriend has taken to rubbing himself on you. Heat pooling in your abdomen, Taeyong’s hand leaving tendrils of fire in its wake. It’s all too hot and not enough and god, times like these you think he’s the literal devil. 

 

“Take it off,” he whines into your mouth as he lifts your shirt up to remove it. Hastily, you comply, seating him on your lap for better access. He stretches his neck, arching backwards after you suck a particularly nasty hickey alongside the column of his throat, his hands threading through your hair, blunt fingernails caressing your scalp. 

 

He lights a fire within you, Taeyong. With a careless smile, you feel the tell-tale signs of a desire to kiss him. With a roll of his hips, the desire to brand him so that your fingerprints leave bruises on his skin, he’ll enjoy caressing on the days you are apart. With every sigh of your name, the hunger to consume him until all that makes him different from you is gone as if you have melted into one being. 

 

Breaking away from a particularly rough kiss, you take refuge by burying your face in his chest. Embracing him tightly. Trying to catch your breath. 

 

“We should stop.”

 

Taeyong continues to leave kisses on your scalp, running his fingers soothingly just the way you like it. 

 

“If we don’t stop now, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop later and  _ then _ I’ll embarrass myself.”

 

Gently, He cups your face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs on the plumpness of your cheeks soothingly. It’s warm and tender and a feeling of love blooms deep inside your chest it’s almost painful. “Look at me, Jaehyun.” 

 

Huge, doll-like eyes stare back at you filled with tenderness. “I don’t want you to stop. I want this to happen. I’ve been waiting for you.”

 

“I’m scared, hyung.” 

 

“Why are you scared? It’s just me.”

 

Your voice cracks, eyes scrunching close in embarrassment. “It’s because it’s you. I’m scared that if we do this, it’s all too late and I…” 

 

_ If you break my heart, I don’t think I can put it back together again. _

 

“Jaehyun, it’s been too late for me since the moment I threw that paper airplane at you months ago,” he whispers softly into your ear, leaving chaste kisses on the apples of your cheeks. “I want to do this with you. I want to share my body with you.”

 

“How can you trust me with something so...so...precious?”

 

“Jaehyun look at me,” Taeyong says softly. “It’s because it’s you, whom I love the most that I am so brave and so scared. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.” He holds you softly against his chest. Rubbing circles soothingly on your back. “Do you trust me, Jaehyunnie? Do you trust hyung?”

 

The truth is this. You have never trusted and loved someone so much in your life as you do the man before you. You have never wanted anything in your short life as much as you want him to need you and keep you in his heart. This is the truth. The secret that you have been keeping inside your chest, even as it screams to be let out. To be uttered in sweet nothings to a young man who has turned your apathy in life into something to look forward to. For every dark night there will always be the dawn. For every yesterday, a tomorrow. 

 

Wordlessly, you nod your head. “I’ve never done this with a man,” you tell him quietly when he pushes you down on your bed. “I don’t know where to begin.”

 

“Shh, I’ll teach you.”

 

“Have you done this before?” 

 

He pauses for a moment before nodding. “Several other partners. None were serious. One night stands. You?”

 

You shakes your head. Feeling your ears redden in embarrassment. “Mostly women. One night stands.”

 

“No girlfriends?” He asks with a quirk of his brow. 

 

“One. She said I was too detached from the world. I think she was right.”

 

Taeyong shakes his head before kissing your forehead. “I’m very lucky then that we met. She is wrong you know. You’re one of the most passionate people I’ve ever met.”

 

With a lingering kiss, he stands up and motions for you to follow him. “Wear your clothes, we’re going to have to get some supplies.”

 

You wear your shirt quickly and rummage around your dresser for some warm socks. Throwing a pair to Taeyong who smiles at you graciously. 

 

“Do you have any condoms?”

 

Sheepishly, you shake your head. Taeyong stares at you incredulously. “Seriously?”

 

“I was very busy studying,” you mumble as you try to wear your hoodie and a denim jacket with fur in-lining. “Clearly,” Taeyong says before he pecks your cheek. You help him into his parka and wrap a scarf securely around his neck. 

 

He leads you to the convenience store by the end of the street. He grabs a small basket he fills in with snacks, two small bottles of lube and a box of condoms. You raise your eyebrows at him questioningly when he adds yet another box inside. 

 

“I’ll tell you right now, Jung Jaehyun-ssi, I am very kinky in bed.”

 

Gulping, you nod before heading straight to the counter. The cashier checks out your items before asking if you want to pay in cash or credit. Wordlessly, you offer several bills that would cover it. The man puts them all inside a bag, offering it to you. “ _ Merci”  _  you say, carrying them in one hand. As you leave the exit with Taeyong the cashier calls out to both of you,  _ “Amusez-vous bien!”  _

 

Taeyong laughs at your embarrassment as he leads you out of the store with a gloved hand. Silently, both of you climb the stairs to your apartment. You drop your keys several times on the floor to Taeyong’s amusement. Your hands shaking badly both from the cold and nervousness of what you know is about to occur. Pressing himself behind your back, he tells you to relax.

 

By the time the key slots in and you twist the door open, all you’re ready to do is lie down on your bed, your legs starting to betray you. Taeyong closes the door and toes off his shoes. 

 

“Relax, Jaehyun. Make yourself comfortable by your bed. I’ll be right back.”

 

“Where are you going?”

 

A smile. “I have to go wash up.” 

 

Okay. You nod. That makes sense. Definitely. 

 

Taeyong heads off in the bathroom to prepare himself. You settle down into your bed, nervous for what’s about to come. You set the bag on the bedside table and take out the box of condoms and lube and you wait. Nerves fried and legs jittery, you listen to some Cavatina in an attempt to calm yourself despite the fact you’re scared shitless.

 

When Taeyong returns, he smiles at you tenderly before settling onto your lap. He takes your earphones off and places your ipod on the side table.

 

“Kiss me,” he says quietly. So you lean over to plant one softly on his lips. It stays like this for a while, gentle and sweet. For your first time with a man, it is better for Taeyong to do it he whispers between exhales. You feel exposed and raw and terribly grateful for his insight.

 

He leads you slowly, removes your clothes along with his in between deep, and gentle kisses and roaming hands.He teaches you the secret parts of himself that he promises no one else but you shall be privy to. Sinewy muscles, the curve of his hip, the way his skin stretches taut against his skin. “You’ve lost weight,” you murmur worriedly into his ribcage. 

 

“Finals,” he replies. “Help me forget.” 

 

He lets you coat your fingers in lube and teaches you how to pry him open gently, where to curl and thrust your fingers to have him keening and writhing in pleasure. Guides your trembling hands into rolling a condom on before kissing you deeply.  When he bottoms out, he lets you catch your breath first, gives you a few moments to prepare you for the pleasure to come. When he rides you, he moans your name like a prayer, and when he comes apart, you swear it’s absolution. 

 

He laughs as you lay him down gently on your bed. Crimson hair fanning out against white. “I won’t break,” he murmurs into your ear, caresses your cheeks soothingly. He teaches you how to lean forward and piston your hips like  _ so _ , how to wrap his legs around your hips to penetrate him deeper, until the pleasure is almost unbearable. His back arching in ecstasy as he shouts your name. 

 

And when you finally come undone in his arms, he whispers into your ear, “ _ you did so well, Jaehyun. I love you so much. You made me feel so good.” _ It’s a relief. 

 

You kiss him. It’s sloppy, less about technique and more about conveying how much he means to you. You stay connected, Taeyong tells you he likes it this way, likes feeling that he is not a separate being for a while. Eventually, the hardness starts to subside and you gently roll over to the side, he tilts his head towards you asking for a kiss, you are only too eager to give. Standing up, you grab a clean and warm towel from the bathroom to clean him up before tossing it into the hamper. You’ll deal with it tomorrow. 

 

Taeyong is smoking a cigarette now, smiling at you with eyes full of tenderness and love. You steal it from his fingers, taking a small drag from it, to soothe your nerves. “Earth to Jaehyun? Are you still here?” 

 

You shake your head as you place it back in his waiting fingers. You lay your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. 

 

“I promise,” you mumble into his chest. 

 

“Promise what?” He whispers into your ear. Running his bony hands through your hair soothingly. 

 

“I will take care of you,” you say quietly. “I am responsible for the things I have tamed.”

 

“I’ll hold you to that, my love.” 

 

You fall asleep in your lover’s embrace. Dead to the waking world. The last thing you hear is the sound of a music box, your lover singing an old love song to help you to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you just wanna talk about otters and other things you can message me on [twt](https://twitter.com/kokuchim) here.


End file.
